"Your jamadar named you to me, madam; I feel that I ought to explain who I am. My name is Jacques de Bonnefon--a name, I may say it without boasting, once even better known at the court of His Majesty King Louis the Fifteenth than in Chandernagore. Alas, madam! fortune is a fickle jade. Here I am now, in Bengal, slowly retrieving by honest commerce a patrimony of which my lamented father was not too careful."
"There! What did I say?" whispered Mrs. Merriman to her daughter as Monsieur de Bonnefon went forward to meet them on the threshold of his veranda. "A noble in misfortune! I only hope his wife is presentable."
They entered the house and were shown into a room opening on the veranda.
"You will pardon my leaving you for a few moments, mesdames," said their obliging host. "I will bring my wife to welcome you, and send to Chandernagore for a boat."
With a bow he left them, closing the door behind him.
"Madame de Bonnefon was taken by surprise, I suppose," said Mrs. Merriman, "and is making her toilet. The vanity of these French people, my dear!"
Minutes passed. Evening was coming on apace; little light filtered through the jhilmils. The ladies sat, wondering why their hostess did not appear.
"Madame takes a long time, my dear," said Mrs. Merriman.
"I don't like it, mamma. I wish we hadn't come into the stranger's house."
"Why, my love, what nonsense! The man is not a savage. The French are not at war with us, and if they were, they do not war with women. Something has happened to delay Monsieur de Bonnefon."